Song of Memories
by The Nothing
Summary: A nostalgic tale of the fate of one of my favorite roleplaying characters. One-shot. Please R&R.


Please Note: This story is based on the _Dragonlance_ series by Margaret Weiss and Tracy Hickman, and the _Dungeons & Dragons_ roleplaying game by TSR. The characters presented are based on characters that I have roleplayed. 

Song of Memories 

Matthias Crestwood the Gray stood alone on the balcony of the highest parapet of Lonely Tower, lost in his thoughts. He had spent nearly every night for the last seventeen years thus, waiting here until midnight. With infinite patience he regarded the moon's cool, silvery countenance with eyes reminiscent of smoldering coals. The flickering red lights that served where living eyes had once been saw other things about the night as well; those holes in the castle walls, far down in the courtyard, some of them caused by his own hand. The thick, perpetual mist that enveloped the forest did not hinder him as he looked upon the forsaken-looking guard tower by the arch that covered the sagging castle gate. He knew, without seeing, that the ancient, decrepit gatekeeper would be there, slowly walking his rounds, with that nearly rotten crossbow, and his trusty, rusty broadsword. Matthias smiled perversely to himself; such loyalty was sadly lacking in the realms of the living, so far from Lonely Tower on Stillwater. 

_Any moment now_, he thought. Had Matthias' heart still beat, his pulse would have quickened. This event, so regular now, gave affirmation to his existence, and purpose to his nights. Without it, he would likely have gone mad several years ago, and become the target of such adventurers seeking the title of "hero" for him or herself. After all, destroying the most powerful form of undead creature in all of Krynn, a lich, tends to attract notice.  

Matthias was drawn from his musing by a quiet sound. Voices, the light, high-pitched voices of children singing drifted through the night. Matthias, powerful as he was in his shadowy undeath, stood transfixed, weirdly fascinated by the sound. Their chant, so like a child's nursery rhyme, had actually become a sort of local myth in that little town, just outside the forest. It was the song of Lonely Tower, _his_ song.

_"Shadows dance, shadows play_

_In darkest night and brightest day_

_Knight of Rose, must be true_

_To his God and Lady too."_

"_Indeed," Matthias smirked to himself, his spectral voice slipping between verses of the song. In all the lands of Krynn, the fabled Knights of Solamnia were hailed as heroes for their unswerving loyalty, honor and courage__. _

_At least, most of the time_, Matthias added silently. The Knights of The Order of the Rose, in particular, were viewed as paragons of virtue and faith in their god, Paladine. Truly blessed. It was they who started tales of fantastic battles with impossible odds, who triumphed over evil in moments of legendary peril_. And how much further do they fall when they are cast from grace?_ Matthias wondered.

_"But the Knight, was waylaid_

_By a pretty elven maid_

Cast his vows to the wind 

_Lost his honor for his sin."_

Unable to resist the sensation that suddenly swept over him, Matthias Crestwood, arch-necromancer, lich, suddenly shed a single, nostalgic teardrop of blood. The crimson droplet slowly worked its way down his pallid face and stark cheekbones, as memories overtook him yet again. He tilted his head back to better see the moon, so full in the sky. Yet he did not see the face of Solinari, the white moon, nor the crimson orb of the Lunitari, not even the sinister face of Nuitari, the black moon that only creatures of darkness were able to see. His gaze was swept away, years into the past, where he too had once beheld a pretty maiden, the very vision of beauty and danger; a very certain elven assassin.

"_Kaeodis," Matthias whispered, and the name stung raw nerves and heartache that had lasted until death, and had remained beyond, as well. She had been absolutely beautiful, vital and full of energy, yet also possessed the same cool, calculating edge of a predator stalking its prey. She and Matthias had not gotten along with each other at first. Even though she'd forsaken the ways and company of other elves, she was still an elf, and the old ways _were _ingrained in her, and she had balked at the knowledge of Matthias' craft.  Yet eventually, they had found they had much in common, and had even shared a brief moment of true love together. Before she... _

_No_, he thought, shaking his head_, I'll not do this to myself again. 'Twas not her fault, nor mine that drove her away. Only the gods know. Perhaps one day, if I ever transcend this mortal coil, as I should have in years past, I'll ask them. Matthias sighed, quite an accomplishment for someone whose lungs had ceased to draw breath seventeen years ago. _Ah, the way of an elfmaid_. _

Kaeodis had simply left, quite suddenly, with no warning or word of where she was going or how long she would be gone. Matthias had awakened one morning, and Kaeodis was nowhere to be found. It was as though she had never existed, but for the lingering scent of jasmine. 

Then, two years later, on the outskirts of a town that _hadn't driven Matthias away for fear of his magic, a stranger knocked on his door. When he had answered, there was no one, but the sharp cry of an infant brought his gaze downward. Someone had left a baby girl on his doorstep in a woven basket of aspen twigs. The girl's eyes were the same steel gray color that Matthias had once been, and her hair was as black as midnight. As black as her mother's hair had been. The girl's ears were rounder than an elf's, but Matthias had heard that somehow, elven mothers expecting half-elven children were able to determine if their child would more closely resemble a human than an elf.  Matthias had looked for hours around his small cottage, but was unable to find anyone, or anything, save for the ghostly scent of jasmine on the wind.  _

                __

_"Then one night he returned_

_To the Lady he had spurned_

_There he found by her side_

_That there was another knight."_

Matthias' attention was drawn back to the sordid history of the Rose Knight, carried on the breeze by the children's song. He knew from long hours of study in the ancient keep's library, indeed, from the old court sorcerer's own journal, that the Rose Knight was away often, gone on this mission or that quest for his chosen Order. When he finally returned home from his journeys (including his scandalous affair with the elven woman), he discovered his lonely, estranged wife being comforted by one of the other knights from his court. His second-in-command had kept the lonely lady company while her husband was away, yet _he'd_ remained faithful to both his commander and Code, never once attempting to steal the woman for himself. 

_"So the Knight without delay_

_Friend and Lady sought to slay_

_Greatest crime, darkest sin_

_Killed the baby held within."_

_Tsk, tsk_, Matthias chided silently, _Temper, temper! You'd think for someone with such a reputation of honor and mercy, he'd at least have some faith in his comrades, let alone his own wife! In his blind, guilt-laden rage, the Rose Knight had drawn his steel and ran his wife through, mistakenly believing her to be unfaithful. Unfortunately, she'd been with child, _his child_, and the thrust killed his very own unborn son. The other knight, a Knight of the Order of the Crown, drew his blade and fought against his former leader. Alas for him as well, for he was little match for the Rose Knight's skill. With his dying breath, the Knight of the Crown cursed the Rose Knight, calling the wrath of their god down upon them both. He condemned the Rose Knight to an eternity of anonymity, to live forever in shame and disgrace, in undeath, with the knowledge that his name would be stricken from every history, every tale ever told of Solamnic Knights. That for the remainder of time, all of his great deeds, all his grandiose quests would be forgotten by all who would come in future generations. Never again in all the lands of Krynn, would his name be spoken by anything with lips to speak, not even himself. _

Just then, far away to the east, in the fabled city of Istar, the Cataclysm struck, and the gods hurled down the fiery mountain upon the face of Krynn. The sad tale of the fallen Knight and his wife was eclipsed by that of another, and that name would come to be feared and reviled such as no other in the history of Krynn: Lord Soth of Daargard Keep, the Knight of the Black Rose.  

_"Now the Knight, and his wife,_

_In hatred and eternal strife,_

_In the Tower of the Night,_

_Haunt until the morning light."_

"_Ironic is it not_?" Matthias asked the night. _The tale of Lord Soth is only marginally different than this one, and yet their fates are almost opposite. Lord Soth lives on as a death knight, his sin made public and legendary to all, while this fellow, with a similar tale, also a death knight, was cursed never to be recognized ever again, despite all the great things he may have accomplished. A true and original curse if ever there was one._

_It is saddening to know that even in death, that poor, benighted lady could not escape her husband. They remained here, locked in a perpetual game of 'Hide and Hunt', for nearly four hundred years, the knight forever begging forgiveness, and his wife eternally fleeing from his abusive advances._

_"Wizard fey, wizard wise,_

_Sought the Castle for his prize_

_So the Mage, and the Knight_

_Fought until the morning light." _

_Hmph! Isn't that just like children? They forgot to add why I came to this castle in the first place. It's not as though I came simply rooting around for spare change left in some corpse's pocket. All I came for was to find a place to be...safe. I place that **I—Matthias Crestwood—would feel at home. A place where I had power, so that I could raise my daughter in peace, and not be set upon by local ignorants! I suppose it was ill luck that my former friends' heroic habits began to rub off on me. I thought I could rid the forest of the perpetual gloom that smothers it, but I've only... loosened it somewhat. **_ Irritation darkened Matthias' features for a moment, then he sighed again. This was an argument that he had held onto ever since these last few verses were added to the song. It did little good to quarrel with the ghosts of children, for they had eluded both the fallen Knight, and later, even Matthias, and they could never be caught or silenced. The song was theirs to sing and no one could change it.

_Ah, but what a battle that had been!_ Matthias recalled that in all his life, he had never faced such a foe, even with his comrades by his side; but here, in this castle, he'd had free reign to cast and weave magic spells the like he'd never dared to wield before, in the presence of the living!

_"Magic might, to no avail_

_Could not pierce the blackened mail_

_The fallen Knight, in his rage_

_Slew the gravely wounded mage."_

_Ah, yes, the death knight's preternatural aura had deflected much of my magic, but he did not escape from the sting of my spells entirely. _A tinge of forgotten frustration floated across Matthias's mind for a moment_. I think I hurt him more than any other creature had since he'd been a death knight, just enough to make him angry. Perhaps I deserved what came next for my negligence and overconfidence._

_"Tongue of hate, word of death_

_Stole the wizard's dying breath_

_Magic jar, sword of dawn_

_Kept the mage from passing on."_

"_'Word of death'_," Matthias softly quoted. He'd known, even back then, that death knights had the power, given to them by their dark goddess, to kill with a word. Not that he had been unprepared, but he would just as soon not have died for being taken off guard. Matthias had been in the middle of casting a spell, when the death knight had simply pointed at him and said the word "_Die_." Remembered pain clouded Matthias' face. The spell had fallen, unspoken on his lips, as agony unlike any other in all of Krynn had torn through Matthias' body. Black tentacles of swirling black energy had wrapped themselves around him, constricting him, forcing themselves inside him, siphoning the life from him. His lifeless corpse had hit the ground even before he exhaled to scream.

_"From the grave he arose_

_To defeat his undead foes_

Magic dark, magic fell 

_Slew the Knight with final spell."_

_Here's to those who prepare beforehand_, Matthias chuckled to himself, _I do wish I had a portrait of the look on that death knight's skull when I returned to see him again!_

Long before Matthias had ever known about the Lonely Tower, or its resident death knight, Matthias and company had fought and slain a black dragon, which had also practiced the dark arts. From the wyrm's grimoire, Matthias learned many new secrets, including the location of a special elixir the beast had created to extend its already-centuries-long life: the elixir to become a lich. 

_All it took was a little time, a lot of money, and some ingenuity, and behold!_ Matthias had spent nearly all his time after that day studying, researching, and altering the potion so that it would grant him every necromancer's dream: the ability to live on after death, to continue to gain power and grow in knowledge for centuries after his enemies were but puppet skeletons to him. In Matthias' opinion, such a transition was more important for future research, for the sheer _experience of it, rather than attempting to rule all of Ansalon (or even a tiny little corner of it). One night, three years later, Matthias drank the poisonous, toxic brew beneath Nuitari's black light. The pain had been excruciating, but brief, and his hair had become steel gray, but nonetheless, the potion had worked. He was then a lichnee; upon the moment of his death, he would arise a full lich, his life-essence securely bound to an earthly vessel by a spell called a '_magic jar_'. In Matthias case, he had decided to make this unique vessel something that no one would ever suspect being connected with the existence of such a powerful undead creature—the Sword of Dawn. _

Matthias smirked as he remembered the spell that he'd used on the death knight. If that old warrior had thought he'd been immune to magic, Matthias had proved him wrong in a most spectacular manner. Cast with the power of a lich, a simple _disintegration_ spell worked wonders on the most invincible-seeming foe. The death knight's final shriek of denial had been most satisfying indeed, an instant before his face had turned to dust.

But afterwards, Matthias was, still and all a lich, the most powerful form of undead known to exist. He couldn't simply continue his travels, in hopes that no one would notice his condition. He was young yet, though he knew that someday, his neglected body would eventually reach the degenerated state of most liches, and his undeath would be obvious to all. Rather than risk discovery by the farming communities just beyond the forest, Matthias shut himself in the castle, barred, chained and locked the gates, and cast many potent spells of protection over his new home. To curb the perpetual hauntings in the forest, Matthias had cast a binding spell over the entire wood, bidding all the restless dead to travel to the lake. They had marched, rather like a mass funeral procession, to the shore, plunging one-by-one into the murky water. There they would wait until Matthias' call. The lake had become like glass; no fish stirred within its depths, no breeze rippled its calm surface. Truly, no other place deserved the name 'Stillwater' more than this.

\As for his infant daughter, Matthias could only leave her at the outskirts of the forest, for the farmers and woodsmen to find. It still pained him, to have abandoned his only child, but there was no other alternative. So he had kept daily vigils over her, scrying from afar, praying silently to any god that cared to listen for her eventual return.                    

_"But alas, for the mage_

The Tower has become his cage 

_Now the Gray, in the night_

_Haunts until the morning light."_

The voices floating through the night faded away. Matthias sighed yet again. He could almost feel the flesh of his face loosening; the flesh of his body sagging. As he gazed out over his domain, his prison, another tear of blood threatened to leak from his eye. _Please, my daughter, return to your poor, doomed father soon..._


End file.
